LaMichael James’ running not from danger

Texarkana, Texas — Drive west down the road where 49ers rookie running back LaMichael James grew up and the direction this story is headed seems obvious.

The windows of the first two houses on Melton Street are covered by plywood; the splintering Century 21 sign in front of the fifth house on the right is partially obscured by spray paint; and many of the remaining 63 homes feature sagging porches, peeling paint and weed-dotted or beer-can-littered dirt yards.

Some of the vacant homes have “No Trespassing” signs near the door. Tellingly, so do some occupied houses – a nod to the danger and criminal activity of Texarkana’s Beverly neighborhood.

James, who never met his deceased father and didn’t live with his mother, grew up at 210 Melton St. in a white wooden house that looks out on a now-abandoned parking lot. He was the only male in a home that included his late grandmother, his sister and a cousin. When his grandmother died when he was 17, he lived alone in the house for much of his senior year in high school.

Of course, it all sounds familiar – a fatherless professional athlete whose success was fueled by the bleakest of circumstances.

But it’s here that James’ story moves in an unexpected direction.

Raised by a team of doting and devoted women, his motivation to attend the University of Oregon, 2,200 miles away, wasn’t inspired by a desire to escape danger. Rather, it was a realization that he needed to flee the cocoon of safety provided by his forever-fretting support system.

“They weren’t really babying me all the time,” James said. “But they’re women. They’re always emotional and always checking up on me. It was something that I needed to do in order to mature and grow up and be my own individual.”

‘King of the house’

James has a close relationship with his mother, Rosemary, but it was his grandmother, Betty James, and his sister, Tasha Galloway, 16 years his senior, who raised him.

Well before he was a second-round NFL draft pick, a two-time All-American, or a two-time All-State selection at Liberty-Eylau High, little LaMichael had a devoted fan club.

“He has aunts and they’re just crazy about him and worship the ground he walks on,” Galloway said. “He was the king. When he was born, he was the king of the house. I can remember LaMichael making touchdown after touchdown and we were like ‘Oh, he’s a superstar. Oh, you’re going to the NFL, baby.’ We would tell him that at age 7, 8, 9. We would tell him that all his life.”

Galloway laughs. Yes, she says, LaMichael was aware he was family royalty and took advantage of his exalted status. As he got older, he’d cry poor to his sister, who’d hand him $25. And then seek out an aunt, who’d pull out $20.

“We’d get together and say, ‘Did you talk to LaMichael? The poor thing, he didn’t have any gas money,’ ” Galloway said. “… Then we’d be like ‘Hey, wait a minute, he’s hustling us.’ “

James acknowledged that it helps explain why he had more than most of his peers in a poverty-stricken neighborhood: “I had a car. I had shoes. I had clothes. I had everything I possibly could want,” he said.

This is not to suggest his childhood was all backslaps and handouts.

Dad slain in L.A.

His father, Herbert Blacksher, was murdered in Los Angeles before James was born, and he grew up without a strong male influence. He has a close relationship with his mother, Rosemary, but she initially gave LaMichael to her mother, Betty, and he never wanted to leave his grandmother’s house, even after she died at 77 from cervical cancer in 2007.

While he didn’t lack for love, James also didn’t lack for opportunities to get caught up in the drugs and violence that permeated Beverly. However, he was loath to disappoint Betty James, who worked two custodial jobs, cleaning a bank at night and a jail during the day.

He called his grandmother Madea, a title African American families often bestow on the matriarch. And Madea was his compass.

Deeply religious, she was as generous with neighbors as she was with her family. Tasha would shake her head when visitors would routinely drop by – not for a cup of sugar, but for the ingredients for an entire meal, which Betty would happily stuff in a grocery bag.

“My grandma was a very tough woman, and she was just so loving,” Galloway said. “She always had a smile on her face, and it made us want to do right by her. Not because she was hollering at us. We never got that or fussing. It was the way she would talk really calmly and clearly got her point across. We just knew we had to do right by her.”

Betty rarely discussed football with her grandson, who, at 5-foot-9 and 195 pounds, has always been small for the sport. She worried about him, but his aversion to the spotlight, even as the star running back in a football-mad town, kept him safe off the field.

No fan of parties

Even as a child, James was averse to crowds. He refused to have birthday parties and stubbornly refused to attend one bash his sister threw for him. A childhood friend, Jeremy Whigham, shakes his head at James’ desire to just “chill.”

In February, James brought Whigham with him to the Super Bowl in Indianapolis, where he had been invited by Gatorade. At night, for adventure, James stayed in their hotel room. Whigham was frustrated, but not surprised. He was similarly bored two years ago when he went with his best friend to Orlando, where James accepted the Doak Walker Award.

The fact that James is allergic to the nightlife has been a potentially life-saving blessing. He declined an invitation to attend a New Year’s party with friends back in Texarkana when he was in college. At the party, a friend was shot and killed.

Robert Cochran, a former assistant football coach at Liberty-Eylau who remains close with James, was initially surprised to find that the teenager from familiar circumstances possessed uncommon traits.

“For a kid who came from where he came from, he was unique in that he was a perfectionist and really competitive,” Cochran said. “A lot of times, those two don’t go together. He was hard on himself almost to a fault. He always stood out compared to other kids, but it wasn’t good enough for his standards.”

Even beyond the football field, James’ focus was impossible to miss.

“He just had that drive and that desire and belief that he was going to reach his goals and be successful,” said Denise Webb, a teacher at Liberty-Eylau. “He didn’t care what anyone else told him. A lot of times you have kids that kind of doubt themselves: ‘I don’t know if I can do this.’ I never saw that.”

Grandmother’s death

Cochran, Webb and others worried, however, when his grandmother died when James was a junior.

Betty James’ cervical cancer, in remission for about five years, came back in 2007 and doctors explained it had spread through her body. After receiving the news, she told the family not to tell LaMichael. But the secret couldn’t be kept long.

She lost weight and her hair. She slept through the day and often called out screaming during hallucinatory dreams. On the afternoon she died in her home, LaMichael, alone in his room, unable to witness the end, was relieved her suffering was over. He was also filled with rage.

“He just went crazy,” Galloway said. “He started hitting on the walls and just slamming doors. He was just so angry.”

Before her death, Betty instructed the family to let LaMichael remain in the home where he grew up. Initially, stricken with grief, he often stayed elsewhere. He would spend the night with Webb and her family, or stay with relatives.

Webb, who ironed his suit for his grandmother’s funeral, worried that the 17-year-old with unwavering self-belief would lose his way without his compass.

Fears unrealized

“I just saw sad and lost,” Webb said. “He was so lost. It was like: ‘What do I do? What’s next?’ As a parent who had two kids at home, I wondered, ‘How is he going to get up for school every morning?’ “

James eventually found comfort when he returned to 210 Melton St. There, among her possessions and his memories, he felt connected to her. He drew strength and determination through his desire to make her proud.

Webb would check daily to make sure James made it to school. He was never late. Galloway and his aunts would drive by the house at night to make sure there weren’t parties. It was always quiet.

“He quickly turned things around because he started thinking about, ‘If my grandmother was here, how would she look at that?’ ” Cochran said. “LaMichael did better in school after his grandmother died. He took even more pride in everything he did. Being places on time. Being a quiet leader.”

During her life, Betty James had served as both grandmother and mom. In her death, she helped James become a man.

Still, the remaining women in his life, most notably his sister, unwittingly did their best to delay his journey to manhood.

Overcoming homesickness

During his first year at Oregon, a hopelessly homesick James would routinely call his sister with tears in his eyes and his bags packed in his room. He wanted to come back to Texarkana and transfer to TCU, about three hours away in Fort Worth.

Most of his support system – friends and former coaches – implored him to stay in Eugene. Tough it out. Things would get better.

Not Galloway.

“He called every day crying and it just broke my heart,” Galloway said. “We baby him. So for our baby to call home crying – ‘We’ve got to get him.’ … My husband was telling me, ‘No, stop babying him. He can’t get everything he wants, and he needs to man up.’ I think it made me man up, too.”

Four years later, James, a college graduate, is one of three running backs in Pac-10/12 history with 5,000 career rushing yards. He’s also a second-round draft pick with a four-year, $3.3 million contract.

Galloway, however, is not beyond still fretting about her brother.

This summer, she’s worried about how his older teammates are treating him as a rookie. Are they making him wash everyone’s cars? Do they punch him? (James’ stock response: “Stop babying me.”)

During the 49ers’ first preseason game, Galloway screamed at the television, imploring the Vikings’ defenders not to tackle him so hard.

In some ways, obviously, things haven’t changed much since James left Texarkana to grow up without the well-meaning women in his life.

But Tasha was reminded, at least momentarily, how much he’s grown when they spoke after his NFL debut.

“Oh my gosh, these guys are so big and LaMichael has always been so tiny,” Tasha said. “But he called me up and said, ‘Do you see how big I’ve gotten?’ I told him, ‘I noticed. I noticed. I almost didn’t recognize you.’ “